The Lives of Nations
by Klicks
Summary: 26 letters of the alphabet. 26 moments between the nations... Their occasional ups, their mostly downs, chaos, laughter, sadness, love. Anything's possible in the world of Hetalia!
1. A - Alone

A – Alone

America woke up a lot earlier than he normally would, when the sky was still dark and the grandfather clock in his room showed that it was not even four. He lay there in bed, blinking, confused. The house was too silent. Too empty. It was… scary. Haunted, almost. And as soon as _that_ thought entered his head there was no stopping the mortifying images. That dark shape there could easily be a monster, one with a huge, horrifying mouth that could swallow him whole! And those patterns on the curtains… Was that a face? Why wouldn't it stop smiling? No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, there was no blocking the nightmares. The cackling evil and the wailing spirits. And screaming from the terror of his own imagination, America leapt out of bed and made a beeline for England's bedroom.

There was no light coming from underneath England's door, which was strange, because England always forgot to put the candle out before he fell asleep, but America had no time to consider that. All he wanted to do was jump into England's bed and cuddle close to the elder nation. As long as England was there, everything would be alright. England was strong, and powerful. England would protect him…

He flung the door open, the word 'Artieeee' already half-formed upon his lips.

But the bed was empty. England was not there. His desk was spotless, too spotless, completely devoid of his usual papers and inkpots. His clothes were not hanging where they normally would be in the wardrobe, there were volumes missing from his bookshelf, and the large suitcases he kept underneath the bed were nowhere to be found either.

And suddenly America remembered.

England was going back to his country. England was gone.

"I will come back," he had promised, dabbing away America's tears as they stood together at the port. "It's only for a few months. I will come back as soon as I can, OK?"

"B-but that's too l-long!" The smaller nation had sobbed, his voice coming out in a broken, hiccupping wail. "Wh-What if you f-forgot about me and n-never… never…!"

He didn't get to finish what he was trying to say, for the tears came too strongly and he had buried his face into England's shoulder. The elder nation was holding him tight, arms wrapped powerfully around America's small, frail body, and the younger nation had returned the gesture in earnest, certain that the other nation would disappear as soon as he let go.

And then England's embrace loosened. He pulled his arms away from America and his touch disappeared altogether, leaving the younger nation reaching out desperately for a hand he could never catch.

England boarded the ship, along with the other richly dressed gentlemen, his eyes never leaving America's for a second. America watched him until even his eyebrows were too distant to make out, and it was at this point that their driver took him by the hand and led him back to their carriage.

The crying left him exhausted, and he fell asleep almost as soon as he returned home.

Now he huddled upon England's large, cold bed, arms wrapped fervently around a pillow that could not replace England no matter how soft it may be. He missed him. He wanted him back. He wanted to listen to another one of England's magical tales. He wanted to watch him set fire to the kitchen before giving up and taking him out to the restaurant. He wanted England to take him horse-riding, or to teach him how to hunt, or to go out sailing in their own, little boat. What could he do without England's careful supervision? He was too young, too little, too helpless, and there was a suspicious French man constantly prowling around his house. He wanted England. He _needed_ England. He couldn't survive without him.

But England had warned him of something like this. He had warned him that one day, eventually, he will be alone.

"Does that mean you won't be here anymore?" He had whimpered, horrified at the very thought. "Are you going to leave me? Have I been naughty? What have I done?"

"Don't be an idiot," England had retorted, but his voice wasn't fierce enough to be truly scolding. "Of course I'll still be here. Remember what I told you? We're nations. We live forever." He ruffled America's hair, emerald eyes focusing distantly into a future that America himself could not see. "One day," he murmured, his voice as soft as though he were telling a story, "One day, you'll grow up. You'll be taller and stronger than you are now. You'll be able to fight for yourself. And then… Then you won't want me to look after you anymore."

"I do!" He had yelped quickly, clinging desperately on to England's arm. "I do want you to look after me! I'll always, always want you here! I promise I won't grow up, England, as long as you stay with me! I promise!"

And the elder country had laughed, and America felt somewhat insulted that he wasn't taking him seriously. Just as he was about to declare his absolute sincerity, England rolled over and poked him playfully in the cheek.

"Idiot." He snorted. "Everybody grows up eventually. Just because you age slower than the humans doesn't mean you won't grow."

"But…" America mumbled, confused and somewhat crestfallen. "But you said…"

"Oh it doesn't matter." Impatiently brushing aside America's words, the elder nation reached out and pulled the other into a tight embrace. "We'll always be together, alright? Even if we're apart, we'll be together."

"… OK." He hadn't understood entirely what England had meant at the time, but he had known that it made him happy, and it made England smile when he agreed, and they had spent the rest of the evening sitting out on a field, watching the sun melt down across the sky.

It was called 'independence', he had found out quite a while later from the wise adults in his village. It was what happened when one country left another to become its own country, and now the thought filled the young nation with fear. Was he now 'independenced' from England? Was he grown up now? Could he look after himself without England's help? Would England ever come back for him?

'Independence' was supposed to be a good thing, he vaguely remembered someone saying. It showed that a country was too powerful to be ruled over by another, and could now support himself for the rest of his life. It was 'freedom', someone else had said, freedom to do whatever you liked, without rein, without restraint. Freedom, they said, is the best thing in the world.

But America couldn't understand any of that. He couldn't _feel_ the joy of freedom and 'independence' that the adults talked about. Not yet, anyway, because right now, as he lay, shivering, on England's large, empty bed, all he could feel was the suffocating nothingness of being alone.

* * *

**AN: **Alright! *fist pump* I've got it started! I'll... try not to use US and UK too much, I have the whole world of Hetalia to play with! But, uh, forgive me if I do use those two a lot. They're too sweet. Too sweet I tell you!

Please tell me if you spot any mistakes or room for improvement (because I know there's a lot...), or if you have an idea or something for the other letters. (Like something that begins with 'X' that's not 'xylophone'...) A review will be very much appreciated. We're all writers here, we all know how addictive these things can be. ;)

Thank you!


	2. B - Bedtime

B – Bedtime

Being the terrible parents that they are, England and France tell a traumatised young Canada a bedtime story.

"It's time for beeeeed, _cher Canada_!" France sang out as he burst into the living room with a graceful swirl, arms outstretched towards the young boy sitting on the sofa. "Would you like _frère_ _France_ to read you a nice story before you sleep, hmm?"

"Oh shut it frog." England snapped irritably, looking up from the jigsaw puzzle he was attempting to piece together with America. "Canada said that he wanted _me_ to read him a story before _you_ came!"

"_Ce n'est pas possible_!" France exclaimed, sounding absolutely mortified. "_Canada_! You would not betray me like that, would you? What did that big horrible man threaten you with, hmm? It's alright, big brother France is here..."_  
_

"I didn't have to do anything for him to agree." England smirked, arms folded smugly over his chest. "Canada just prefers me over you- Ow! America! What did you do that for?!"

"You keep on ignoring me!" The little colony whined, pouting. "Finish the puzzle with me, please?"

"In a bit." The elder nation sighed, waving a hand irritably through the air. "I'll just put this frog in his place, and then I'll..."

"Oh, _mon cher_." France shook his head. "Such hurtful words... Canada, who do you want to read you a story?"

"Um..." The colony frowned, biting his fingers. "I..."

"England!" America moaned. "Are you gonna finish the puzzle or not?!"

"America, be quiet! I'm busy-"

"Oh, sure you are." The little colony muttered, pulling up suddenly. "Too busy with Canadia, aren't you!"

"What? Oh, look, America... This is ridiculous." Sighing, England tried to pat his colony on the shoulder, but the little boy stepped out of his reach. "I will finish your puzzle later. I promise! As soon as I wipe the floor with that disgusting Frenchman over there I swear I will..."

"Whatever." The young boy scowled, slapping away England's proffered hand. "I'm going to bed." And with a final, dark glare towards his mentor, he stormed up the stairs, arms still folded tightly over his chest.

"A-America!" England called out hastily, feeling acutely aware of France's careful scrutiny. "America!"

His only answer was a loud slam of the door that made Canada whimper and squirm in France's arms.

"Now look what you've done." The Frenchman sighed dramatically, running a hand through Canada's hair. "It's alright… _frère France_ will protect you from the big bushy eyebrows…"

"Watch it, you…!" England growled, narrowing his eyes at the other nation. "I'll have you know that Canada likes me _fine_. And it was all your fault that America left like that anyway! He's never been like that before. Ever!"

"Oh, I'm sure." France retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "It is obvious that you have no idea on how to take care of colonies. It pains me to see you feed _cher Amérique_ such poison! It is all I can do to keep _cher Canada_ from suffering the same fate, _n'est-ce pas, Canada_?"

"Um…" The poor boy squeaked, large eyes flitting fearfully between the two great empires that were glaring heatedly at each other.

"Shut up! My food is perfectly edible, thank you very much!" England protested. "It is not _poison_, whatever you may say, and America absolutely loves it. In fact it's Canada _I_ feel sorry for, always being force-fed with that disgusting French slop you give him…"

"Um… I…"

"Oh, _Angleterre_, you amusing creature! Do you think your comments can deny the fact that French cuisine is the best in the whole of Europe? No one can value the opinions of a man who has lost his taste buds…"

"I have not lost my taste buds, you stupid, irritating little git! My cooking is-!"

"Such _language_, _Angleterre_! Do you really think _cher Canada_ is fit to listen to your filthy mouth?"

"_I can say whatever I bloody like, you frog!_"

"U-Uh, excuse me…?"

"Oh, I feel greatly for poor _Amérique_, taken under the wing of _the black sheep of Europe_."

"Oh that's it, you _bloody _–"

"G-guys! Please c-can you stop?!"

The two larger nations blinked in surprise, turning as one to stare at the trembling little boy still clutched tightly within France's arms.

"I… I mean…" Canada stammered, shying instinctively away from the gazes that were suddenly focusing upon him. "I w-want to go to bed now. Please."

"Oh… W-Well, alright, lad." England mumbled, suddenly looking vaguely embarrassed. "Sorry about that, heh… It is getting quite late, isn't it? I-I mean…"

"Mmh, _oui_," interrupted France, lifting his little colony up to his face, "and _frère France_ will tell you a romantic fairytale before bed, _d'accord_?"

"No, _I'm_ reading him a story this time! God knows I don't want _my_ colony tainted with one of your twisted, perverted French tales…!"

"Oh? And I want _my_ colony having nightmares about your eyebrows?"

"I'd much rather he have nightmares about my eyebrows than having his mind tainted by _you_, you sick, disgusting - !"

And Canada could not help but give a small, insuppressible sigh as the argument picked itself up all over again.

* * *

It was something of a miracle that the little colony managed to get to bed at all, and he only achieved that by slipping out of France's arms when the other wasn't looking. Now he lay contentedly in bed, arms wrapped firmly around his little polar bear, and tried hard to block out the row that was currently occurring downstairs.

"… stupid, disgusting, slimey… "

"_… ennuyeux, grincheux, vieux_…"

"… Frog!"

"… _Sourcils_!"

"Talk in a language people actually understand, g– Hey, wait, where's Canada gone?"

_Maple… _The small colony whimpered internally, hastily throwing his duvet over his head.

"Oh _Canadaaaaa_!" France's voice rang out operatically through the house, followed swiftly by an indignant "Stop pushing me!", as contributed by England. A short scuffle in inconsiderate volumes later, the two nations finally made their way into the colony's room, looking for all the world as if they had both been molested by a giant horde of tigers.

"_Bonne nuit, cher Canada_!" France smiled, casually running a hand through his now tousled, ragged hair. "_Frère France vous lire une histoire maintenant, d'accord_?"

"_J-Je pense…_"

"Oh, look at the kid." England snorted, folding his arms impatiently over his chest. "You're terrifying him. And stop talking in that accursed language! You know he doesn't like it!"

"A-Actually…"

"Oh, _mon cher_, French is the beautiful, flowing language of _amour_!" France exclaimed, waving an arm dramatically through the air. "You cannot seriously expect _cher Canada_ to enjoy something as plain and peasant-like as English. Only the finest nobles speak _French_."

"Well wh-whatever!" England snapped, as memories of his childhood abruptly resurfaced from his mind. Something of France attempting to teach him French and mocking him for being unable to pronounce 'bœuf' properly. "_I _shall tell him a story in English – "

"… Because that is the only language you can speak." France put in.

"Oh shut up, you!" England growled, narrowing his eyes. "I've been studying different languages for centuries! Latin, French – unwillingly, of course – German, Greek…!"

"_Naturellement._" France smirked. "That does explain why your language is such a crude mixture of everyone else's…"

"_Sodding wanker_…!"

"U-Um…!" Canada yelped quickly, interrupting the other nation before things got out of hand once more. "M-Mr. England? I-I thought you were going to tell me a s-story?"

"Huh?" England blinked, looking confused. "I did? Oh, right, yes. Of course! Sorry, lad." Ignoring the gaping expression upon France's face, he pushed past the other nation and knelt swiftly by Canada's side, smiling warmly. "I'll tell you a story from my homeland, alright? It's about a great, powerful English King, whose name was Arthur…"

"_Of course_." France muttered darkly from one side.

"I wasn't talking to you, frog! … Anyway, the King's name was Arthur, and he was brave and brilliant leader for the English. He wielded a powerful sword, called Excalibur, and he used that very sword to slay the Saxons who were invading my country at the time…"

"… _Oui_, _cher Angleterre_ was quite a weakling when he was young." France added, beaming over England's shoulder. "All the same, he was _très _cute, _non_? Always trying to copy what Big Brother France was doing…"

"I said _shut up_!" England barked, giving the other nation a powerful shove. "… Heh, sorry about that. Uh… Where was I? Ah, yes. King Arthur was a legendary figure. He was the leader of the Knights of the Round Table. Have you heard of them? Well, they were – "

"_Mon cher_, are you actually going to tell him a story?" France yawned, arching an eyebrow. "Or are you just boring the poor _garçon _to death, hmm?"

"I'm getting to it, you bastard!" The island nation snapped, his already limited patience finally running out. "I need to give him some background information first, don't I?"

"Well, perhaps you can study up on your history whilst I tell Canada a beautiful, romantic tale, _non_?" France suggested, subtly shrugging past the other country. "It is only fair; you've had your turn, and now I'll have mine."

"Wha- Oh fine. Do what you want, frog. Just wait until you traumatize the poor kid into my arms."

"Hmm… I believe he is already traumatized by your eyebrows, _monsieur_."

England spluttered, hands clenching and unclenching by his side as though he wished they were closing around a certain Frenchman's neck. "Do you want another Hundred Years War, you frog?!"

"_Sacrè bleu_! All I want is to tell _cher Canada_ his bedtime story!" France exclaimed, gesturing animatedly towards the bed. "_Mais vous…_!"

"C-Can we not fight…?" Little Canada suggested timidly, his entire body a quivering ball under the blankets.

Neither nation gave him any attention.

"Me?! Canada would have been perfectly fine with me if you had just let me _tuck him into bed_!"

"The same could be said for me, _sourcils_! I have worked hard to teach _cher Canada_ to appreciate true beauty – such as myself – and how to appreciate good food! Besides, you already have America, _n'est-ce pas_? _Pourquoi_ can you not leave me and my colonies alone?"

"Alone?! Bloody hell! How thick do you think I am?! Who knows what mess you and your stupid French perverted-ness could lead to? You can hardly set a good, gentlemanly example to your colonies!"

"_Et tu_?! If I am not mistaken, you took _cher Amèrique _out drinking just yesterday!'

"He's fifty-six bloody years old! He can drink! A-And who are you to talk anyway! I can't remember a time when you didn't have a sodding wine glass in your hand!"

"You do not recall a time that I ever placed a wine glass in _your_ hand until you were of age, _non_?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! I looked after myself when I grew up! You were just being an irritating bastard and –"

"_Mon cher_, my point is: Canada will be much better under my care than yours, _n'est-ce pas, Canada_? Every country in Europe knows they can turn to their Big Brother France for guidance!"

"Yes, that does explain why Italy is such a coward, like you!"

"_Ce n'est pas juste _! _Mon petit Italie_ has learnt many useful things from me! _Le garçon_ has the finest taste buds –"

"Why do you always go on about _taste buds_ - ?!"

"Because you have _none_, _monsieur_!"

"How many times do I have to tell you - ?!"

Perhaps, if our neglectful nations could have at least glanced towards their colony's bed, they would have noticed that the little colony had long since abandoned his bedroom. In fact, by the argument had progressed to this level, Canada had already disappeared for a good five minutes, clutching his Kumajumbo tightly in his arms.

It was probably a good thing too, because the inappropriate behaviour started ten minutes after.

* * *

America lay angrily in bed, glaring heatedly up at the dim, white-washed ceiling and wishing so very desperately that he could hit England in the face.

It wasn't fair. They'd been perfectly happy together, just him and England, before England suddenly decided to bring along this 'Canadia' into the mix. Well, actually, 'Canadia' wasn't too bad. America wasn't even sure where the guy was most of the time, not that he cared too much about what the other guy was doing. And England didn't seem to care much either. It was still only the two of them who went hunting on the weekends, still just the two of them sailing happily in their boat… And then France came along, and America was forgotten instantly.

Just the thought of being forgotten made America's blood boil, and sulkily, he folded his arms tightly over his chest. It became harder and harder to get England to notice him, not when he was so preoccupied with fighting France and squabbling over 'Canadia'. They didn't go out hunting anymore, England stopped fussing over everything he did… It wasn't fair. Why should England like Canadia more?! He'd found America first, didn't he?!

But the worst. The _worst_ thing in the world, were the times that England mixed them up. When America would watch with horrified wide eyes as the other colony is picked up and fussed over, his hair ruffled and cheeks pinched just as England would do to America during one of his more playful moods.

And then he would find out that England had not mixed them up after all.

Angrily, the colony threw his blankets over his face and attempted to suffocate himself, tears of frustration beginning to creep up behind his eyes. England was such an idiot! Such a stupid, horrible, mean, annoying, forgetful, old idiot! He was…!

"Um… H-Hello?"

America might have screamed a little. And almost wet himself. But it's hard to blame him when the voice was so unexpected, so sudden, so 'not-supposed-to-be-there'! He hadn't heard the door open at all! And neither had he heard any footsteps! A-And… What if it was a ghost?!

"D-Don't hurt me ! » He whimpered out, keeping his whole body tucked firmly underneath his blanket, certain that, as soon as he removed it, he would find himself face to face with the most grotesque, horrifying looking skull that will swallow him whole and –

Oh no stop thinking stop thinking everything's alright rock a bye baby on the tree tops…!

"Um… I-It's just me…" The quiet, timid little voice trembled, and finally America plucked up the courage to peek suspiciously out of his blanket.

Canadia stood nervously by the side of his bed, still dressed in pajamas and clutching his little bear tightly to his chest. He looked cold, trembling minutely as he rubbed his thin arms. He smiled awkwardly towards America, and the other colony scowled in response, suddenly remembering his earlier irritation.

"How long have you been there?" He demanded, frowning heavily.

"… I've been here for quite a while…" Canadia mumbled, burying his face in his bear's fur. "… Can I sleep with you tonight?"

America stared, caught by surprise at the sudden question, but he quickly recovered himself and managed a weak smile. "Uh, yeah, sure." He mumbled, shifting over a little in his bed as he watched, not without suspicion, the other boy clamber on to the mattress. "What, um… What are you doing here for, anyway? I thought…" A lump rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. "I thought Iggy was reading you a story or something."

"Yes… He was going to, eh." Canadia mumbled, his voice muffled in the duvets. "But he and France got caught up fighting each other and forgot about me again…"

"Oh…" America murmured, trying to stop the smile that was creeping upon his face. "That's… That's… great. I-I mean…"

"I wish I were more like you, America…" Canadia continued, his small voice shrinking even smaller as he spoke. "England and France never forget about you, eh. They pay much more attention to you than me… I'm sure they like you more…"

"Really?!" Surprised, America pushed himself up on to his elbows. "You're joking. France doesn't care about me. And Iggy…" He paused, staring sadly off to one side. "He doesn't care about me either…"

"Don't say that…" Canadia whispered, and reached out comfortingly to pat America on the arm. "I just wish I was more like you, America. Really. Everyone always forgets about me in the end…"

Trailing off, the little boy lowered his head, his arms tightening possessively over his little polar bear, his face buried within the animal's soft, white fur. And now it was America's turn to pat Canadia on the arm, suddenly beginning to feel strangely sorry for this little boy who had interrupted his life without warning.

"It's alright," he said confidently, and his words make the other colony look up in surprise. "I won't forget about you, OK? I'll be your big brother! If anyone upsets you, I'll go and beat them up! I'm the hero, you see. So I'll save you, don't worry!"

Sniffling, Canadia nodded. "O-Ok…" He mumbled, and managed a small smile. "T-Thank you, America…"

"Dude!" Grinning, America gave the smaller colony a great, tight hug. "You can call me Alfred now, cuz we're brothers now, right? Right?"

And even though he was currently having the air squeezed out of him, Canada smiled.

"Yes… Yes we are… Alfred…"

* * *

**Omake:**

"So... Uh, sorry, what's your name again?"

* * *

**AN: **Yep... I can't say I'm pleased with this... D: It doesn't freaking flow, but whatever. I'm working hard on other stuff. :3

Please review and give me some love! *puppy eyes* I think I'll write about Switzerland and Austria next... 'Cheapskates'. XD Thoughts, guys?

Thanks for reading, anyhow! :D England and France are so fun to write.


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